


waken from his summer dreams

by ac_MaryAgnes



Series: Can Spring Be Far Behind? [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ac_MaryAgnes/pseuds/ac_MaryAgnes
Summary: ...knowThy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!Someone turns eleven, and the past comes knocking.





	waken from his summer dreams

In the tidy apartment flat above the herbal shop, the telephone was ringing.

“John Henry!” shouted a strong baritone from the back workroom.

“I’ve got it, dad.” A lanky ten year old wandered into the living room. He was tall for his age, but not so tall that he loomed over the other children. Set in a narrow face that was tan with the summer sun, bottle-green eyes shone out from behind square glasses over a nose that was perhaps a bit too large. His curly black hair flopped about his forehead and neck, and a long fingered hand pushed it back from his unblemished forehead as he picked up the receiver. “Stevens residence.”

“Oh hello, John Henry,” cooed the elderly woman over the phone. “This is Mrs Hudson. I just wanted to let you know that your father has some mail to pick up – I think it’s that package he’s been waiting for.”

The boy broke out into a grin, even though no one could see it. “Great! Thanks, Mrs H; I’ll let him know. We were going to come by the post office today anyway to drop off your order.”

“You’re such a good lad, John Henry dear. I’ll see you and your father in a bit, then. Ta-ta!”

John Henry replaced the receiver and jogged back towards the workroom. His father stood at a tall, wooden table, facing the open window as he worked. Dried bundles of herbs and flowers hung from racks around the room, giving the space an earthy scent that drifted with the in-coming breeze. Notes and order forms were held down by rocks so as not to flutter away. Sunlight peeked out from behind the clouds and wove through the branches of the trees, landing in spots and puddles on his work surface as he carefully measured ingredients for tea bags.

“That was Mrs H, dad,” John Henry said, leaning against the doorframe. “We’ve got mail to pick up.”

“Good,” Michael Stevens murmured, finishing up before he turned around. “I’ve been expecting those roots for a while now.” Michael looked over at his son and frowned. “Oh child, you need a haircut.”

John Henry shrugged and ran a hand over his curls. “I’ll get one before school starts, so I look smart.”

Michael shook his head, waggling a small trowel in the boy’s direction. “We’re not waiting a full month to sheer you, sheep. You’ll get one tomorrow.”

“Dad,” John Henry rolled his eyes. “ _You_ have long hair.”

Michael’s straight black hair typically hung to his shoulders and was almost always tied back into a short tail to keep it out of his face. “Fine then – we’ll both get a cut tomorrow.” John Henry sighed and shook his head but didn’t rebut the statement – it wouldn’t do him any good anyway.

“Go and put your shoes on,” Michael said, nodding his son out into the hall. “Let me clean up here and we’ll go down to see Mrs Hudson.”

“She’ll try to get you to date her niece again,” John Henry teased.

“You’re not so big that I can’t still turn you over my knee, you scamp.” It was a gentle threat and John Henry knew better than to take it seriously. He grabbed a wrapped parcel from the counter with ‘ _Mrs Emma Hudson_ ’ carefully printed on the top before he left to find his sneakers.

Father and son made their way out into town, waving at Mr Williams across the street, and headed toward the post office. They were greeted as they walked by friends and customers alike. It was something Michael knew that in a different life would never happen. Not for him, and not for the boy who walked beside him.

Mrs Hudson had set out a tray of baked goods, as she often did when she knew the Stevens’ were coming by. It might have taken a little while for the pair to warm up to the town initially, but she couldn’t help herself – they were  so kind once you got through Michael’s standoffishness. And so skinny! If anyone needed a bit of extra padding, it was the Stevens' boys. Really, it was a good thing they came in to receive their packages instead of having them dropped off at their door like some of the other shops did.

When Michael and John Henry came in, Mrs Hudson was chatting away with a dumpy little woman in a brown dress with small, pink roses all over it, and a matching brown hat. The woman carried a large, beaten purse over one arm and reminded John Henry a bit of a grandmum he’d see on a show or in a movie.

“Oh, there they are!” Mrs H exclaimed as they moved closer to the counter. “Michael, this woman is Pomona Sprout. She was just asking about you two – it seems one of John Henry’s teachers sent in an application for him to a school for gifted children and he’s been accepted!”

As John Henry reached up and helped himself to a homemade cheese Danish, Michael looked at the new comer – her round cheeks and welcoming smile – and he could feel the blood drain from his face. His son’s birthday wasn’t until November, but another little boy’s birthday was in July.

“Mrs Hudson,” he interrupted the shop keeper, “what day is it?”

“Oh, it’s Wednesday, dearie, the 31st. Says so right on the calendar.” She gestured to the wall calendar hanging off to the side. There it was, right at the bottom of the Wednesday column: July 31st.

“Dooms Day,” Michael muttered under his breath. How could he have forgotten?

He considered himself lucky, in a way. His old herbology professor didn’t seem to recognize him at all. Granted, the last time they’d actually set eyes on each other, he’d been a sullen 17-year-old wearing oppressive graduation robes – a far cry from a single father and muggle business owner he’d turned himself into.

Michael cleared his throat and gathered himself quickly. “Ms Sprout, I’m sure this is a great opportunity and John Henry and I would love to hear more about it. Why don’t you come back to our place with us and I’ll put some tea on – you can tell us all about the school.”

Professor Sprout smiled and bobbled her grey head. “That sounds lovely, Mr Stevens.”

“Well, go get our mail, John Henry.” Michael took a fortifying breath and patted the boy on the shoulder then turned to the woman behind the counter. “Mrs Hudson – your order.”

“Such a good boy,” Mrs H cooed, happily accepting the parcel and turning to the other woman. “I’ve got a bit of a dodgy hip, you see, and Michael’s herbal soothers have done wonders for it!”

Michael demurred as best he could, eager to get his son and the witch out of the post office. There was a strange buzzing beginning in his head and he suddenly desperately wanted to get back home. He wanted his son in a safe place where he could defend the boy if need be.

“You’re an herbalist, Mr Stevens?” Professor Sprout asked as they walked out onto the sidewalk. “How interesting! You see, I’m not just a representative of the school – I teach there as well. Botany is my specialty. I imagine John Henry will do quite well in it, considering his exposure to the topic!”

“Well, it’s a bit more like chemistry,” John Henry admitted, eager to show off his knowledge. “You put plants together, sure, but you have to know how they’ll react if you don’t want to kill someone by accident.”

Michael's shop never dealt in anything quite so dire, and Michael would certainly never allow his son to touch anything dangerous. But if there was one thing Michael Stevens was going to teach his son, it was safety in a potion's lab.

“We have an advanced chemistry course,” Professor Sprout nodded along. “If that’s what you think you’ll enjoy. All students are required to take our core classes, but starting in third year, they’re able to take electives and focus more on what interests them.”

“We can talk about the curriculum when we get inside, I think,” Michael said, quickening his step a bit to hurry them all along. They couldn’t very well speak about charms or transfiguration out in the open like they could herbology or potions, and it was getting a little bit harder for Michael to get a full breath.

“Splendid idea, Mr Stevens. Is this you?” Professor Sprout looked up at the sign in front of the shop. “Stevens’ Herbs: Holistic Remedies for Common Maladies,” she read. “Oh I like that – very smart, that is.”

“Stairs are around this way,” John Henry instructed, jogging ahead to the side of the building.

“This is cozy,” the round little woman sounded pleasantly surprised by the interior of the flat. “Not at all what you’d expect of two young bachelors.”

Michael gave a wan smile and gestured for her to take a seat before mumbling something about tea and dashing into the kitchen.

“We have to keep it clean,” chirped John Henry as he plopped down into the loveseat. “Otherwise we get dirt and plant stuff everywhere.”

“Can’t imagine that would be too comfortable,” Professor Sprout agreed. She settled happily into one of the chairs facing the couch and set her bag to her side. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, John Henry? We should get to know each other a little while your father is getting tea.”

The boy shrugged and launched into a lengthy explanation of his football accomplishments. Michael came in halfway through John Henry regaling Professor Sprout with the time he brought the Cutters to a spectacular win against their rival team, the Whales, just last weekend. The woman, bless her, nodded right along even though it was clear she had extremely little idea what John Henry was actually talking about.

Placing her hands in her lap, she happily waited for Michael to pour and serve before deciding to dive right in. “Well, I hope you’re not too upset, gentlemen, but I fibbed a bit when I told you about the school I’m representing. Oh, it’s still for bright young things like yourself, John Henry, but the gifted and talented part… well, we only accept students with a very specific sort of gift. You see,” Pomona dug into her purse and pulled out a letter and some informational pamphlets, “we’re a school for magic. For budding young witches and wizards just like you, John Henry.”

The boy accepted the letter (‘ _Mr John Henry Stevens, Second Bedroom, Apartment Above the Shop, 24 Waverly St, Clydach, Swansea_ ’) and pamphlets, then stared at the dumpy woman, jaw hanging. He looked at his father. “Dad, I think you should call Constable Gregson – this woman’s crazy.”

Michael let out a heavy sigh and pulled one of the leaflets from his son’s slack hands. ‘ _So You’re Magic. Now What?_ ’ the front asked, under which Albus Dumbledore stood in resplendent fuchsia robes. The image shrugged and gave a cheeky wink at Michael. He cleared his throat and tossed the trifold paper onto the coffee table before tugging down the cuffs of his shirt. “No, she isn’t, John Henry. The school is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Professor Sprout is here because your name has most likely been on the registry since you were born.”

Professor Sprout looked more surprised that Michael knew this than his own son. “Why, that’s quite correct, Mr Stevens. How on earth did you know? This was listed as a non-magical residence.”

Michael had to take a sip of tea before responding. Thankfully, he was able to do it much cooler than he was feeling. “The boy’s mother was a witch.”

_‘And I’m a wizard, but if I’m very lucky no one will ever know that.’_

“Mum?" John Henry's jaw dropped back open. "She was-“

“Magical,” Michael admitted softly. “And I mean that in every sense of the word. I always knew it was possible for John Henry to inherit his mother’s talents. He used to make his mobile spin on its own, you know. Never needed to wind it, really.” Michael ran a fond hand over his son’s curly head. “You could make the wind blow in a closed room, you wily scamp.”

“How lovely!” Pomona cooed. “That’s a common talent amongst magical tykes. Have you ever done anything by accident, John Henry? Or noticed strange things happening around you?”

The boy looked at his father, who nodded encouragingly at him. “Once, I let my friend Seamus shave my head for the summer, and it looked really weird, like… not at all how it should. And it all grew back over night.”

“Like it had never even been cut,” Michael nodded. “Strangest thing.”

The old woman chortled, then covered her mouth in surprise at herself. “Oh, dear. That’s not quite uncommon either, but please forgive me for laughing. It always tickles me!”

Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house and professor of herbology, spent the rest of the afternoon explaining Hogwarts to a sweet green-eyed boy. She had no idea she was speaking to The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter himself. Severus Snape, the infamous spy who had disappeared into the night ten years prior with the saviour of the wizarding world, was eternally thankful.

-

“John Henry,” Michael said after the door closed behind Professor Sprout, “I know this magic is very exciting, but…. I feel we, you and I, have some things to discuss.”

John Henry, who had been about to grab a snack from the kitchen, lowered himself back down onto the couch. “What is it, dad?”

Michael hesitated before sitting on the coffee table in front of his son. Hid long knees bent up high, but this was a conversation to be had face-to-face. “I had hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you, but I don’t want you getting confused when we go meet Professor Sprout to get your school things tomorrow. You see, your mother was a witch, but what I left out – quite on purpose, mind you – is that… I’m a wizard.”

John Henry seemed to take it in, but didn’t quite understand. “But dad, you can’t be. You’ve never done anything magic.”

Michael ran a hand across the back of his neck, and mentally debated how much truth to tell the boy. “Not in a very long time, no. And again, that’s very much on purpose. We didn’t move to Wales just because your mother died, John Henry. That was part of the reason – I couldn’t stay where everything reminded me of how she was gone, but… we were in danger if we stayed where we were. I’m sure you’ll learn a great deal about it once you’re at school. A man – he called himself Lord Voldemort – he decided that any one who didn’t come from a purely magical background should be killed, much like how Germany was in World War II. I was a spy and your mother fought on the front lines at every opportunity. Your mother… she was so brave, John Henry.”

Michael swallowed a few times, staring at his hands before he looked back up and continued. “She was killed because of that – it was a home invasion, just like I'd always told you. She died protecting you, and I’ll never forgive myself for not being there to save her.”

Michael’s throat clogged tighter and he had to take a deep breath before he continued. “Lord Voldemort was destroyed soon after that. Because I was a spy, it took some time for my role in the war to become clear, so I went to prison for a little while. But I was acquitted because it was considered wartime. Things were still dangerous, though, so I decided it would be safer for us to leave the wizarding world. I left my wand with your mother’s family, packed our things, and created a whole new life for us.”

John Henry scrubbed a hand through his hair. “So… why didn’t Professor Sprout recognize you?”

Michael took a deeper breath, unsure if he was happy that his son decided to focus on that rather than something more sensitive like the whole ‘my father was a spy and went to prison’ thing. “I’m not too sure. I guess the boy she remembered was… harder, maybe, and certainly more miserable than I am now.”

John Henry frowned and looked at his hands. “And why… why did you give up magic?”

Michael ducked his head to catch his son’s attention. “John Henry, I love you. And magic isn’t everything. I have found more fulfilment and more joy in my life here – with you and the shop and without magic – than I had ever found with it.”

John Henry studied his father’s face then turned his eyes to the floor. Michael, hesitating, put a gentle hand over his son’s. “You’ve been given a lot to think about today and I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I just… I wanted to explain before we arrived in Diagon Alley tomorrow, in case something happened or someone really did recognized me.” 

John Henry gave a shaky nod, but kept his eyes on the ground.

“I’m going to get started on dinner.” Michael pressed a kiss to the boy’s head as he stood. “Take all the time you need, son. And if you have any questions, you know I’m here.”


End file.
